


Fighter

by vix_spes



Category: Rejseholdet | Unit One
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Spoilers for Episode 31 and 32 in chapter 3, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: Somehow, over the years, it had become their thing.





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snowflake11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowflake11/gifts), [TiggyMalvern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiggyMalvern/gifts), [swingtime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swingtime/gifts), [Hannibalsimago](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibalsimago/gifts), [AllanLionChild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllanLionChild/gifts), [Dorinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorinda/gifts), [purplesocrates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesocrates/gifts), [HotSauce418](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotSauce418/gifts), [TigerPrawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerPrawn/gifts).



> Inspired by certain scenes at the beginning of episode 4.

La Cour wasn’t really sure how his weekly aikido session in the gym had turned into a weekly session of sparring with Fischer but it had happened nonetheless.

It wasn’t that he disliked spending time with Fischer or even disliked sparring, it just wasn’t what he had intended.

He had been practising the Japanese martial art ever since he was a boy. He’d hit his growth spurt early and had been rather lacking in grace, instead resembling a somewhat clumsy baby giraffe. Team sports had been out of the question and, somehow, aikido had been decided upon.

It was good; it taught him a lot. Not just how to defend himself but how to use his body. He developed the previously absent gracefulness. Beyond that, it appealed because it wasn’t merely physical, it was also cerebral. He had to think, had to learn how to understand the rhythm and the intent behind his opponents attacks and then process that information so that he could find the optimal position and timing to mount an effective counter-attack. There were less than twenty techniques but thousands of ways to implement them and the endless possibilities fascinated him. Beyond that, he liked that there was mental training involved, that aikido emphasised the ability to relax both the mind and the body. It didn’t solve the problem of his gift, but it did help, even if it was just a little.

La Cour kept up his training all the way through school and through his police training, continually honing his skills. He was still a beanpole, but his rangy frame belied his strength. It was when he was transferred to Rejseholdet that the regular classes had finally come to an end; it simply wasn’t possible to maintain that sort of commitment. With Rejseholdet, you barely knew where you were going to be from one week to the next and, while he had tried to keep to a routine and practise forms and techniques by himself, it had fallen by the wayside in the face of too much travelling and too many nights in random hotels.

And then, a couple of months after La Cour moved to Rejseholdet, they had someone new transfer to the team from homicide; Allan Fischer. He was La Cour’s opposite in just about every single aspect but Torben had paired the two of them together nonetheless and they had just clicked. That could be, in large part, to the fact that Fischer seemed to have no concept of personal boundaries. He merrily barrelled his way into every aspect of La Cour’s life until it almost felt like he couldn’t remember a time that Fischer hadn’t been there.

That wasn’t to say that La Cour felt put upon by Fischer’s presence in his life or that he had been railroaded into spending time with him (well, sometimes he had been). No, he genuinely appreciated Fischer’s friendship and, given how much time they spent together, it was definitely a good thing. They all knew that they were doing important work - good work - but that didn’t change the fact that being part of Rejseholdet made for a lonely life. Not only were the cases grim and often disturbing, but you were away for at least two hundred nights a year; not the ideal circumstances for maintaining friendships, let alone relationships. There truly was no wonder that the team had a tendency to cleave together.

Somehow the advent of Fischer’s arrival had seen an increase in the amount of time that La Cour spent socialising. He’d gone a few times before but, while he liked IP, Torben was something of an acquired taste, especially when he had been drinking, an opinion that both La Cour and Gaby shared. However, Fischer had this look that seemed to have the effect on La Cour agreeing to just about anything. That, in itself, was dangerous. It was dangerous how Allan Fischer, a man that he hadn’t known for all that long, had entwined himself so thoroughly into La Cour’s life, affected him in a way that he couldn’t explain, that he would agree to a whole host of things with one look. Even if Gaby had privately likened said look to puppy dog eyes. At the very least, La Cour’s inability to say no to Fischer had certainly led to an upswing in his alcohol consumption.

Yet, even with something as simple as beer, Fischer and La Cour were polar opposites. La Cour didn’t drink to excess and, whenever possible, he preferred craft beer to any mass-produced brew. On the other hand, Fischer didn’t really care what he drank as long as it was wet and alcoholic. It wasn’t unusual for Fischer to drink twice as much as La Cour on a night out, empty bottles littering the table top while he was surrounded by a permanent haze of cigarette smoke. Still, it had become their thing.

Every week, they would meet and spend a couple of hours sparring. It was a constant source of frustration for La Cour. He had spent years studying, practising and perfecting what he considered to be an art form. It _was_ an art form. Yet, unsurprisingly, Fischer showed it the same irreverence that he showed almost everything else. He had no respect for tradition or for the techniques that La Cour had spent so much of his life. For Fischer, it was simply another form of exercise. A former member of the Danish National Police Football Team, he had always been physically active and threw himself at everything he could; sparring was nothing different.

While La Cour tried to utilise the techniques that he’d learned over the years, Fischer simply went about things with careless abandon, completely irreverent to how things should be done. He fought dirty, sneak attacks that La Cour wasn’t expecting because they weren’t in the rule book. Sly kicks, trying to distract La Cour, anything that he could think of, Fischer did it. It had frustrated La Cour at first, before he had realised that Fischer wasn’t going to change; all he could do was accept it and, once he’d done that, he’d started to have fun.

Maybe a bit too much fun.


	2. Now

It had been their thing for a couple of years by the time that La Cour realised. Two years of himself and Fischer sparring once a week in a deserted gym. At the end of every session, they’d shower and then go for a beer. It was a routine. It was familiar, it was comfortable, and it was theirs. La Cour loved it. Oh, a couple of things had changed – Fischer had finally learnt a bit of aikido technique and La Cour had incorporated some of Fischer’s less orthodox moves but, in essence, it was as it always had been and for that La Cour was more than grateful. At least one thing had stayed the same.

The team had changed dynamics since both La Cour and Fischer had joined the team. Rejseholdet itself had changed. For one thing, Torben was no longer in charge having been killed by the son of a friend’s former lover. Instead, they now had Ingrid Dahl, the former vicekriminalkommissar from Internal Investigations.

It had been far from a smooth transition. While IP had categorically stated that he didn’t want the job and neither did La Cour or Fischer – not that either of them would have been in the running – it was still strange to have someone new come in and take charge, particularly on a case they were working on where their boss had been murdered. It had taken a while for them to rub along together without any tension. Ingrid’s style of working was very different from Torben’s, and Fischer, in particular, had chafed under his insistence of doing things by the book. Now though, they had all adapted to each other and La Cour infinitely preferred the atmosphere to when Torben had been in charge. The team felt more like a family now, which was both a good and a bad thing as far as La Cour was concerned.

It was good because they needed to be able to get along together given the amount of time that they spent together away from home and on the road. Without Torben, who had been bloody good at his job but not the kind of man that La Cour would be inclined to call a friend, La Cour had been more inclined to spend time with the team – the odd night at the pub, breakfast with IP – as opposed to just Fischer and, with Ingrid in charge, Gaby had been drawn in from the periphery of the team.

And therein lay the problem. At the same time that Ingrid was encouraging team bonding, fostering almost a team as family dynamic, La Cour was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he had feelings for Fischer that transcended mere friendship and were certainly not familial.

La Cour didn’t find it easy to develop attachments, whether they be friendships or romantic relationships. The latter he found particularly difficult after an incident several years before he had joined Rejseholdet between himself and his partner at the time. La Cour had known, when he had realised just how enmeshed in his life Fischer had become, that he was putting himself at risk, but he still hadn’t been able to make himself pull away. That didn’t mean that he had done anything either. Mainly because, just around the time that La Cour had acknowledged that he felt something more for Fischer, the other detective met Mille.

She was a lovely woman, there was no denying that. Just like there was no denying that Fischer treated her poorly. It was supposed to be nothing more than just a bit of fun between them the way that Fischer told it, but then they had been careless and Mille fell pregnant and, before they knew it, they’d been rushed down the aisle. Selfishly, La Cour had worried that, with a new wife and a baby on the way, that his time with Fischer would become limited to work and nothing more but his fears had been for naught. Indeed, La Cour found himself having to prompt Fischer to go home or even call his wife far more than he should have done. There was no doubting that Fischer was a good father once Victor made his appearance, but a good husband? Nothing could be further from the truth and La Cour shouldn’t have liked that as much as he did.

Still, it wasn’t easy. Neither of them was particularly tactile nor even particularly loquacious, but then they didn’t need to be. They could go for a drink and not exchange more than a handful of sentences in an hour and still know what each other was thinking or feeling for the most part. It was the time in the gym that became nigh on torturous for La Cour.

What had once been a pleasurable experience became a test of La Cour’s self-control as being close to Fischer became a weekly torment. Being in such close proximity to Fischer, grappling with each other, bodies pressed up close to each other as they sweated and strained. More than once, La Cour found himself having to throw Fischer off suddenly in an attempt to hide his erection. Inevitably, each sparring session ended up with La Cour in a shower stall, all but biting through his lip as he masturbated as silently as possible, hoping that Fischer didn’t hear him over the sound of the running water. Still, as excruciating as the sparring sessions were, La Cour was insistent that he not give them up, masochistic that it was. He couldn’t, not when he had the opportunity to be so close to Fischer.

And then, of all people, they ran into Helene – La Cour’s ex-girlfriend - on a case in Holbæk. It had been a blast from the past that La Cour hadn’t felt completely equipped to deal with. He had known that returning to Holbæk was going to be a trial but, even so. He hadn’t been expecting Helene and all the memories that came flooding back. And, of course, with Fischer knowing him so well and needing to know La Cour’s business _all the time_ , he had been unable to let things go. He had needled La Cour constantly, wanting to know about La Cour’s time in Holbæk, about Helene and their past together. Not only that but he seemed to be pushing La Cour back in Helene’s direction; it was almost as though he was trying to get them back together. He kept answering pointed questions and contriving to leave them alone together. It was relentless.

So much so that, by the time that they left Holbæk, La Cour had decided to make a go of it once more with Helene. Or at least see if she was interested in the possibility, which he was fairly certain she was, given her body language during the case.

He was aware of how big a fool he was being. It hadn't worked with Helene before, had resulted in something that he was truly ashamed, but he was also a realist. He would rather have Fischer in his life as a friend not just a colleague and he was under no illusions that Fischer was interested in anything more than that, particularly given the way that he seemed to be pushing La Cour towards Helene. Besides, he had loved her once and he hadn't been lying when he had said that he had followed her career. Surely there was a basis for something there? Maybe not the best basis to build a relationship on but they had been made on worse foundations over the years. At least Helene was used to him and his quirks.

Helene may not be Fischer but, then again, there was only Fischer and La Cour couldn’t have him. He may as well settle for the familiar that he could have.

 


	3. Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has spoilers for the last two episodes of Rejseholdet ... beware if you haven't seen them! This is the bonus chapter based upon a Tumblr message from Swing

“You know, it would make me worry a lot less if you would stop getting strangled.”

“I’m sorry?” La Cour propped himself up on his elbows so he could stare down at Fischer and raise an eyebrow.

“I said, my life would be a whole lot less stressful if you would stop getting strangled by criminals.” 

La Cour couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “I’m sorry? Are you telling me to be more careful? Mr ‘I’ve had more concussions than I can count’? And need I remind you what happened with the bikers?”

La Cour knew that he’d made a mistake when Fischer stilled immediately but the words had just fallen from his tongue. Of course, the bikers were still a sore spot with Fischer, how could they not be? Helvede, they were a sore spot with the whole team, not just Fischer, although he arguably had the most right to be angry except for maybe Johnny and Gaby. Even now, the guilt that La Cour felt over the whole thing was almost overwhelming. After all, the whole thing had been his suggestion. It had been him that had come up with this plan that had involved Fischer being incarcerated and isolated from everyone he loved and all of those who loved him in order to put a gang of bikers behind bars. But, not only that, it had been his plan that had seen Johnny disabled for life and Fischer packed off to Europol as punishment.

Even so, one good thing had come out of the whole thing, in that the time had finally seemed right for Fischer and La Cour to make a go of things. The relationship between Fischer and Ida had ended long before the biker case, when she had decided to stay in the States following the FBI course and La Cour and Helene were divorced, meaning that both men were free to explore what had been building between them for years. Of course, there was just the minor inconvenience that Fischer was in exile while La Cour was with the team in Denmark.

Officially, as per Palsby’s orders, none of them were allowed to contact Fischer. Of course, none of them cared about that. Ingrid turned a blind eye and, if anyone asked her, none of them had spoken to Fischer nor knew how he was doing. In reality, they were all in contact with him, albeit to varying degrees. IP had been in regular contact, as had Ulf to everyone’s surprise. Ingrid had been more intermittent, as had Gaby, for understandable reasons. However, to no-one’s surprise, it had been La Cour who had been in touch the most.

They had started with emails - testing the waters, so to speak - and, when that had gone better than expected, moved onto other things. Instant messenger, texts, phone calls, Skype, actual letters, they’d used all of them. It had been awkward at first but, before long, it had been as easy as it always was. It was during these conversations that it had come about that Fischer hadn’t met anyone new at The Hague and that La Cour and Helene had divorced. As the weeks and months had gone by, they had talked more and more. Always the closest members of the team, they had grown even closer until finally, aided by alcohol, they had been brutally honest with each other.

It was Fischer who had spoken first, confessing that it didn’t work with Mille or Ida because they hadn’t been what he truly wanted and neither woman had been willing to settle for being the fourth on Fischer’s list of what was important after Viktor, La Cour and Rejseholdet. That Fischer had been lying to himself for a long time about how he truly felt about La Cour and that the time in prison with no-one but La Cour had made that even more apparent. Knowing how much it would have cost the other man to admit to all of that, La Cour had made his own confession; that he felt the same as Fischer and had done for a long time.

Taking a leaf out of Fischer's book, La Cour had decided to be the impulsive one for once. He had requested a few days holiday from Ingrid, booked a plane ticket and flown to The Hague. It was only when he was standing outside, waiting for Fischer to appear, not knowing if he had a case or not, that La Cour questioned the wisdom of his actions. They had discussed things and decided that they would continue as they were but try a relationship when Fischer returned to Denmark. However, La Cour found himself to be too impatient to wait; after all, they still didn’t know when Palsby would allow Fischer to return. His doubts disappeared completely when he saw Fischer walk out of the building, lighting up a cigarette as he did so, and the broad grin that spread across his face as he caught sight of La Cour.

La Cour might have been impulsive in buying the plane ticket and making the journey but Fischer was equally impulsive as he made his way over, long legs eating up the distance quickly, taking one last deep drag of his cigarette before he flicked away the spent butt. He didn’t even bother to greet La Cour, simply wrapped his hand around the back of La Cour’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t exactly perfect; the angle wasn’t quite right, and the taste of nicotine was almost overpowering, but it felt right, more than it had with anyone else. And then Fischer changed the angle of his head slightly, one hand fisting in the lapel of La Cour’s suit jacket and dragging him closer, and La Cour couldn’t help but moan, his own hands coming up to clutch at Fischer’s back. When they'd finally been able to tear themselves apart, they'd gone back to Fischer's standard Europol-issue apartment and not left it all weekend.

Leaving had been hard, far harder than La Cour had envisaged it to be. They didn't know when - if - Fischer would be allowed to return to Denmark and they didn't know when La Cour would next be allowed to take some holiday. They made all of the usual promises - texts, phone calls, emails, Skype - but they were a poor substitute and they both knew it. In the end, La Cour had managed to make one more weekend trip before they had received the unexpected news that Fischer's exile had come to an end and not only was he returning to Denmark but to Rejseholdet as well.

The news of his return had come six weeks ago, and it had been an exuberant Fischer who had called La Cour to share it. Just under two weeks ago, La Cour had met him at the airport with an exultant and heartfelt kiss before driving them back to the flat they were now to share. Just as on those weekends in The Hague, they hadn't emerged from bed except for food and to use the bathroom for the first three days and, even then, they had only risen for a visit from Viktor and Marie.

And then they'd been thrown into their first case back. The one in which La Cour had managed to get strangled again, starting off this whole spiral. As if it wasn't bad enough that he'd been taken by surprise, he'd managed to put his foot in it and mention the bikers. Now, tamping down on the guilt as best as he could so that he could focus on his partner, La Cour reached for him.

“Allan…” his tone of voice was coaxing, the same one that he used with Marie when she didn't want to do something.

To his surprise, Fischer allowed it, letting himself be cajoled up the bed until he flopped half-over, half next to La Cour, burying his face in his neck.

“I don't want to talk about it, about the bikers.”

That wasn't entirely surprising. They didn't tend to talk about things. Indeed, it was a bloody miracle that they'd actually talked while Fischer was at The Hague otherwise they wouldn't be here. Then again, their usual ‘sparring and a beer’ way of working things through and knowing what the other was thinking hadn't exactly been an option when they were separated by hundreds of miles.

“Fine, we won't talk about it then.”

They were going to have to eventually but La Cour had known Fischer long enough now, knew when to push him and when not to. Instead, he settled for wrapping his arms tightly around broad shoulders and relaxing into the bed. Enjoying the feeling of Fischer in his arms, of his weight grounding him. He’d dreamed of this for so long that it was almost difficult to believe that it was actually happening. Gradually, he felt the tension leach from Fisher’s frame and a kiss pressed to his throat. La Cour couldn’t help the hiss of pain that escaped from him, even at the gentle touch. He may have commented on Fischer’s tendency to get hit in the head, but there was no denying the truth to his words that La Cour had a tendency to get strangled by suspects and the tenderness of his throat was a testament to what had happened earlier.

Fischer responded accordingly, and the first kiss was followed by a series of kisses, all of them feather soft brushes of Fischer’s lips across the bruised skin of La Cour’s throat. Simultaneously taken aback and not at all surprised by the tenderness that Fischer was showing, La Cour gave himself over to Fischer’s ministrations, allowing his thoughts to just drift. What he and Fischer had - while still in its infancy - was different to any other relationship that he’d ever been in, completely different to Helene who was the only other person that he’d ever been serious about, and he revelled in the ease of it all.  There was a security that he had never had, and he was willing to bet that neither had Fischer. As the kisses trailed up his throat from the bruises, over his jaw and to his lips, he couldn't help but smile. As Fischer's lips pressed against his, La Cour responded eagerly, a small moan leaving his throat as Fischer pulled away.

“I wasn't joking earlier. You need to stop getting strangled. I didn't spend all that time in prison and then the bloody Hague for us to finally get together only for you to go and get strangled by a bloody suspect.”

There was no denying the earnestness in Fischer's voice and La Cour brushed his fingers through his hair, sweeping it out of Fischer's eyes. He had let it grow while he was in The Hague and it wasn't in the shaved style that La Cour had hated even more than when he used to slick it back. It wasn't quite as long as it was when Fischer had first joined Rejseholdet, but it still flopped in his eyes ever so slightly and La Cour loved the strands of silver-grey that darted through it, the only real sign of passing time, almost as much as he loved tangling his fingers in it when they kissed.

“What's to be done? It's not as though I ask to be strangled.”

“There’s nothing for it; you’re going to have to start sparring with me again on a weekly basis. You've been slacking while I’ve been away.”

La Cour couldn’t help but laugh at Fischer’s words, not bothering to deny them. What was the point? He had tried to keep up with his aikido, but his attempts had been half-hearted at best. After years of sparring with Fischer, he had been spoilt and it hadn’t been the same without him.

La Cour hadn’t been the same without him.

He was a different person when Fischer was around. Helene had noticed and commented upon it, as had the team. He couldn't really explain it; Fischer seemed to bring out a light-heartedness in him that no-one else could. He was quicker to smile and laugh, quicker to return after getting lost in his head, in the crime scene. Case in point, he braced himself and then flipped them so that it was he pressing Fischer into the mattress, revelling in the raspy laughter that his action elicited, the flash of fangs that he loved so much.

“Sparring with you every week? However will I put up with such torture?” La Cour teased, dipping his head to kiss Fischer, nipping that plush bottom lip in retaliation as Fischer's fingers grabbed his arse and squeezed.

“I'm sure we can find some sort of mutual reward.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you would prefer to comment on DW, you can do so [here](https://vix-spes.dreamwidth.org/296200.html)
> 
> If you'd like to share the post on Tumblr, you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.tumblr.com/post/170627427150/fighter-chapter-1-vixspes-rejseholdet)


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